


The First Day Back

by durinsheir (ShadowChanger)



Series: After All Else [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Book, Post-Hobbit, oh yes angsty angst, one day later, remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowChanger/pseuds/durinsheir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The quiet follows him into the hall, and he hates it. He hates the absence of - no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Day Back

**Author's Note:**

> More Hobbit-y angst! Huzzah.

Gandalf leaves Bilbo to manage the S.B.s, and Bilbo curses all of them quietly in Dwarvish as he locks his front door.

The silence settles in, dusty and cold. Empty. With another loud (and quite creative) expletive, Bilbo stomps into the sitting room, trips over the foot stool, curses again, and lands with a thud on the hearth. Ash and dust takes to the air around him, and he gives up on lighting a fire completely. Instead, he curls up on his side and just _lays there_.

Barely a minute goes by before the darkness and the quiet and the lack of something Bilbo will not think about – he will _not_ – crowd in, and he is up off the floor in a flash, crawling and stumbling out of the sitting room. The quiet follows him into the hall, and he _hates_ it. He hates the absence of – no.

He shuffles into the kitchen, leaning against the wall, the door, and the table as he goes. Tea should set him right. Didn’t it always? Before?

But the mug is small, creamy-white with delicate sides, and, before he can catch himself, in pieces on the floor.

Bilbo flees the kitchen and returns to the sitting room, the silence following him. His favorite armchair is too soft, too comfortable, too unlike the rocky field between Rivendell and – no, Bilbo. The floor is hard, but lacks the earthy warmth of the Eagle’s eerie. It smells wrong, and Bilbo hates it.

Something rustles outside the sitting room window. He leaps to his feet, growling, his hand reaching for a sword that is not there. The rustling ceases and Bilbo sags back to the floor.

He hates it.

The quiet is oppressive now, and with a strangled shout, he races into the hall. He yanks open the closet door, kicks his mother’s glory box halfway across the room, and nearly sobs with relief. There it all is. Yes.

**

Later, the sky is tinged pink, and Gandalf returns to Bag End. He forgot something, he claims. Bilbo shrugs. The door is open, he says, his voice hoarse and cracking. Gandalf nods, the lines in his face deepening dramatically before leaving the hobbit alone again.

Bilbo squirms on the ground, a root from the Party Tree digging into his back. His fingers, numb now, clutch Sting to his chest in a death grip. The cloak on his shoulders is much too large. It smells of dirt and grass, and of hobbit, initially. Underneath, it smells faintly like pony, leather, and even a hint of dragon. Also troll, but Bilbo ignores that bit and concentrates on the scent that matters. He breathes deep and smells chain mail and swords, mountains and dwarves.

There it is, yes. All is well, for a moment.


End file.
